Song of Shadow
by Forever Jake
Summary: The beginning of an unfinished tale. Illidan has escaped back to Azeroth, and Maiev and her Watchers are stranded in Outland. With a new Orcish Horde to contend with, her struggle for survival and lust for vengeance will push her to the edge of her sanity


            **The Warden and the Prisoner, Part I**

            ***

            _Illidan Stormrage grunted in pain as the lash swept across his back, cleaving off pieces of his flesh like the claws of some ferocious beast. His violet blood, darkened from the tortures he had sustained in body and in mind, collected in a pool around him as he sat stoically on his knees, his bare back to his tormentor. He gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to cry out, as the whip lashed back over him. The Warden, angered at his defiance, lashed out a third time, this time catching his face and flipping him onto his back. Illidan sat up slowly, his tongue licking away the blood that dribbled from his jaw. He chuckled softly, the light sound alien in the darkness and horror of the torture chamber._

_            "Damn it," the Warden cried, "why will you not break!" She brought the whip down again and again, once more forcing Illidan to the cold stone floor, and all the while, the prisoner's manic laughter echoed louder and louder down the unlit halls._

_            ***_

            Maiev Shadowsong did not know why she was here, in this desolate place. She knew why she had come, of course, to the forgotten world of Draenor; but she did not know why she remained among the dead crags and broken mesas. The emptiness echoed the wilderness of the Barrens near her home. Now she recalled why she had never journeyed that direction during the ten thousand years of her life.

            The very sight of this brittle realm was to her obscene and disgusting; her eyes which had witnessed countless acts of torture and sadism – many at her own hands – moved her to vomiting at the sight of a land riven by magic. The tug of the lingering demon energies were like a cancer to her; she could sense them infesting her pores, eating away at her, leading her body to decay. This place was devoid of anything Maiev counted holy or good, the Goddess's energies distant, the forces of nature dormant, the pounding rhythm of life itself muted by the echoing cacophony of the long-silent drums of destruction. War and magic, the highest evils the Warden knew of, had purged this land of any redeeming quality, and had left it broken and stained to live out its shattered, disgusting existence.

            Without beckon, the vile image of Illidan Stormrage emerged from the quagmire of the Warden's mind. _Sorcerer. Murderer. Betrayer._ When Maiev had been but a young elf, early in her first century, rising slowly through the ranks of the Watchers, she had been tasked with guarding the Betrayer's cell. She had been wary at first, even disturbed by the scent of corruption which hang about the sorcerer, but little by little, as she grew into her station of Warden, she came to enjoy the vile one's presence, to relish the sessions of torture and pain where she became his punisher, god to the heathen wizard who dared to infest her dungeon. She took pleasure from his pain, happiness from his despair. She came to love Illidan Stormrage, and every strike of the lash was a tender kiss for his parched, broken lips.

            There were times, however, when he would not break, when he would not collapse in defeat at the onset of the pain but resist, defiling the purity of her torments with his defiance. They were common in the early decades of his internment, and became rarer and rarer as time wore on. He would laugh, he would smile, he would whisper snide arrows that stung her as painfully as the lash she took to his hide. She would strike again and again and again, fighting to destroy his will, and the sounds of the whip slashing would drown out the sounds of his laughter. It was on these nights when she loved him, perhaps, the most, because it was then that she hated him.

            She would set her jaw in rage as he opposed her, his arrogance manifest as he screamed offences, even as she secretly sang at the opportunity to break him once more. But the worst insult he ever gave her was the day he escaped.

            The priestess, Tyrande, broke into the dungeon and freed the chained Illidan, slaying the scores of Watchers who guarded him and ending the life of Califax the Keyholder. Then the sinful priestess led the demon hunter out, and Illidan, the Warden's secret love, left her warm dungeon for freedom's pleasurable bed. His resurgent will, when it surfaced, Maiev could forgive, for she always crushed it again. This rejection, however, she could not.

            Demon hunter, Illidan had styled himself. Now it was Maiev who hunted the demon Illidan, all the way from Ashenvale to this forsaken place. Draenor, the red world, homeland of the orcish Horde – and prison for the imprisoner Maiev. Despite herself, the Warden laughed at the Goddess' sense of irony. This was quite the reversal of roles – the hunter, Illidan, hunted, and the jailer, Maiev, jailed.

            ***

            _"It is time,"_ the voice of the Goddess spoke into her ear. The voice was not intrusive, nor sudden, nor unexpected; it came from somewhere deep inside of the Warden, the dark place that sang when Illidan sneered. The words were familiar, like they had always been a part of her, as near as if it was her own voice that spoke them.

            "Of course, Warden," said a nearby archer, who walked swiftly away. Was it indeed Maiev that had spoken? Had the Goddess used her lips, perhaps? Yes, she thought, that was it. The Goddess must have spoken through Maiev, her favored daughter. And why not? What the Goddess demanded of the Warden she demanded in return from her Watchers, so why would the Goddess not skip a step and speak through her mouth, with her voice? It made sense.

            ***

            The archer gone, Maiev drifted again into reverie.

            She had caught him once, watched him stand, defeated, before her as she read his sentence with a nearly erotic pleasure. She had waited, quivering, for the moment when his indomitable will would manifest itself and fight her inescapable tortures. But the moment had not come. Once again, the priestess Tyrande had intervened, the promise of her death leading Illidan's capturer, his own brother, to set him free to aid in searching out the threatened Tyrande. Illidan had fled, fugitive once more, into the darkness, and again Maiev had followed after.

            He led her then to this blasted world, this demon-infested pit. He had escaped its grip, his demons driving him to more evil, while she had been stranded, imprisoned, _abandoned_ by him here, in his kingdom, as helpless as he had been in her dungeon.

            Once again moved by the Goddess' sense of irony, the Warden threw back her head and laughed.

            ***

            "Warden?" the archer said, returning. Maiev's laughter ceased instantly; her face hardened and her eyes narrowed to take in her lieutenant.

            "What is it, Narana?" she asked, suspicious.

            "I've brought the prisoner, as you asked," Narana replied.

            "Bring him in."

            Narana turned and spoke a word. A door opened, and a pair of warrior women carried in a small body. They stopped a few feet from Maiev, and hurled the figure to the floor.

            "Your prisoner, Warden," Narana said crisply, and the three women exited through the door, leaving Maiev alone with the unfortunate. The door shut behind them.

            "Get up," Maiev said softly, turning her back to the body, which lay still on the floor. "I said 'get up'," she yelled, after a few seconds pause. She turned back and kicked the figure in the ribs. It gave a muted yelp and sat up, revealing an alien face, horribly disfigured. "What is your name, demon?" She said, softly again.

            The creature laughed, wincing at the pain it felt at doing so. "I am no demon, lady elf. I am not that old yet, eh?" Maiev kicked again, and the creature crumpled in agony.

            "I asked your name, creature," she said.

            When it had recovered, it said, "I am Akama, elder of the Draenei, keeper of Draenor."

            Maiev knew little of the creature's forgotten race, only what she had gleaned from the few orcs she had met in her short travels. She knew that they had shared this blasted rock with the orcs and ogres that now plagued the forests of her homeland, and that they had been all but obliterated by the demon-worshipping Horde.

            "Keeper, eh?" Maiev sneered. "And just how well have you 'kept' this place, Akama?"

            "The foolishness of the orcs has left its mark, yes. Draenor reels like I from your blow. But we will grow back in time – just as your forest will, I am sure."

            "What know you of Ashenvale?"

            "Illidan Stormrage told me much of his home, lady elf. Your world, too, bears the touch of the demon's claws. We are not so different, you know."

            "Silence, fool!" Maiev cried, her circular blade finding its way around Akama's neck. "Illidan Stormrage is a liar and a murderer. What you have been told matters little; you know nothing."

            Akama eyed the weapon as best he could, no doubt imagining how its touch would feel as it cleft his head from his body. Steeling himself, he muttered, "Perhaps." He closed his eyes and waited to die.

            "Narana!" Maiev cried, removing her weapon from the Draenei's throat, "I am through with this wretch for now. Lock him in a cell." She left the room as her lieutenant and the warriors returned to seize the prisoner.

            ***

            "This one is no trouble," Maiev said to no one, her voice sluggish and distant. "We will let him live."

            _"He knows where Illidan is. He will try to escape, to run to his master's side again."_

            "Should I kill him? His blood will not bring Illidan to us."

            _"Use him to find Illidan. Use him to bring the Betrayer to us."_

"What benefit Illidan to return for this alien? The Betrayer has no compassion, no use for an ally in need."

            _"Illidan will return to the world he has claimed. He will return, and we will be ready for him. This creature can tell us much of Illidan's plans."_

"Yes. We take from him what Illidan plans to do. We shall learn his plans and be ready for him."

            _"And then we will have our revenge."_

            "Yes, Goddess."

            ***

            "What is _that_?" Maiev stared in fascination at the hulk of flesh that grappled with her warriors. The massive creature roared savagely, a predatory grin spreading across both of its faces. The archers and huntresses that struggled to subdue it grunted in strain. The creature just kept fighting with glee.

            "An ogre," Narana said. "He wandered into our base about a half an hour ago, while you were communing with the Goddess."

            "Well, what does he want?"

            "Just to fight, I think."

            "Hmm." Maiev stepped forward. "Elunin!" she cried. The archers and huntresses immediately shied off from the ogre and formed into two parallel walls, a wide corridor between them, with Maiev at one end of the corridor and the ogre at the other. Both of the ogre's mouths spoke at once, providing an eerie echo to his words.

            "You are no fun, elf Warden. I want to play some more."

            "What is your business, ogre?"

            "No more play? Fine. I will talk business with you, elf. You have a prisoner that I want. He belongs to my clan. I will fight you for the prisoner, or I will pay gold for him. My clan will get him back one way or another."

            "What do you want with our prisoner?"

            "None of your business."

            "Then you'll not be getting your prisoner back."

            "You make a hard bargain for a simple ogre-mage, elf Warden. But very well. I am Mogor. I rule the Laughing Skull Clan. Until recently, I fight for the demon lord Magtheridon, who keeps power over this realm. We serve his whims, and our own concerns vanish from our heads. Now Magtheridon is dead, and my clan is my own again. I remember now a great spell vault my clan discovered just prior to the demon's arrival, and so I set my clan to finding it again. After much toil, we uncover the site, but now we find another puzzle – a magic lock that can only be opened by Draenei incantation. I ask my clan where we can find a living Draenei now, for all the Draenei clans are destroyed or in hiding. But then I hear of a woman, an elf, who comes upon a Draenei seer and captures him. Now I come to you with challenge of combat or promise of tribute, whichever you will accept."

            "I deny your offer."

            "Which, Warden?"

            "Both."

            "But you must accept either my payment or my challenge. It is the law of my clan."

            "Ah, but I am not of your clan. Good day, ogre."

            Mogor roared, slamming a thick fist to his left into an unsuspecting archer. The woman crumpled, unconscious. "You WILL accept one or the other!"

            "No, Mogor, I won't. Akama is _my_ prisoner. I am not of your clan and I will not submit to your ultimatums. Now, I have said 'good day', and I have meant it. You will leave my encampment immediately if you do not wish to find yourself sharing the Draenei's cell." There was a pause, while the ogre shook visibly. He was obviously struggling to contain his anger, a difficult thing for an ogre. Then he gulped down a breath of air and nodded.

            "Very well, elf Warden. We see. We see." He turned and stalked out of the camp.

            "The sooner we leave this place, the better," Maiev muttered.

            ***

            _"You should have taken the offer."_

            "Akama may lead us to Illidan, Goddess."

            _"Illidan may never return."_

            "Then we must follow him."

            _"Yes."_

            "How?"

            _"This realm holds many secret places. The vault the ogre seeks has much magic in it, or he would not desire it."_

            "We could lure Illidan back with the artifacts already in our possession."

            _"Perhaps the vault holds something more. Something for us."_

            "Perhaps a way home. We should look into it."

            _"Yes."_

            "How will we find it?"

            _"The ogre will return, and he will lead you to it."_

            "Ah. Yes."

            _"Yes."_

_            ***_

            "Hurry, sisters! They will be here soon!" Narana Ravenstar stood atop a short hill, motioning to the warriors who were still gathering their things. Those who were ready for the trek ahead of them were seated in a large semicircle behind her, listening to Maiev's briefing. Narana had wondered of late if her commander had been losing her head. It sounded, however, as though the woman still had a bold and brilliant plan or two in her, and so Narana would follow her.

            "The attack will come in a few minutes, when the sun rises," Maiev was saying. Narana turned her back on the busied warriors and focused instead on the Warden's speech. "We will be at a serious disadvantage when the daylight comes. That in itself would reason enough to shirk the coming battle. Add to that our grievous losses against the Naga and Blood Elves, and we would be fools to stay and fight. I have therefore prepared you to retreat to the mountain pass behind us. Our treants have been properly erected for our defenses here, and they should last long enough to cover our escape."

            She cleared her throat and looked up at Narana. The assembled Watchers followed her gaze. "Ranger Ravenstar will guide you to the mountain pass. I will remain to ensure that Mogor's forces remain occupied and cannot pursue you. Once the twilight falls, I will rejoin you at the pass."

            "Warden!" cried an archer, who had been stationed on a bluff across from Narana. She was pointing towards the edge of the night elf encampment. "Look, mistress. The attack has begun!"

            There was a flash, as if of lightning, and Maiev was beside the woman. "Damn. I had hoped we'd have had more time." As if cued by her words, a searing red light erupted suddenly from the eastern skies – the blood-red daylight had come to Draenor. Maiev called to Narana. "Ranger Ravenstar, are you ready to begin the evacuation?"

            "Ready, Mistress!" Maiev blinked out of existence, appearing again at the entrance of the encampment, in the center of the attacking orcs. She stood for a moment like some legend, daring her enemies to continue. Then the orcs were upon her, and she disappeared, engulfed by the fray. Narana straightened, turning her head towards those still meandering about the base. "You heard her, ladies! Move out!" Narana ran down the side of the bluff. A cadre of archers joined her. The march began.

            The path out of the base was a dangerous one, and rocks obscured the dazzling red sunlight with long, concealing shadows. Narana and her cadre proceeded with caution. Twice, the ranger was sure she saw something looming before them, but when she reached it, she found nothing but empty shadow.

            They reached their first checkpoint, a seemingly deserted grove. To the untrained eye, the place was nothing more than a few rows of massive trees, obviously not native to Draenor, but certainly not threatening. Had anyone unfriendly tried to enter the grove, however, and the treants would have reacted with force. Narana noted the thick, muscular boughs, the mighty trunks, the deeply entrenched roots. In the presence of the great trees, the blood-crimson soil had even reverted to a healthier brown. The trees were bringing life tot eh dead world of Draenor, one patch of dirt at a time.

            As she passed, Narana looked up, to the tops of the trees, where the entwined branches formed a canopy that nearly blocked out the scarlet sun, making an artificial night. It was almost beautiful…

            The ranger was jolted from her ascetic reverie by a whoop of warning. She looked up at the archer that had issued the alarum, and beyond, to where the warrior was already aiming her bow. A trio of grunts charged into the grove, their axes seeking the night elves' flesh.

            Narana cried out an order, and a volley of arrows left the women's bows. They needn't have bothered, however. As the first of the three orcs drew near, a bough swung low suddenly, as if by magic, and caught the warrior, raising him high into the sky. The orcs' war chants turned to shouts of terror as the other two were scooped up by similar floral extremities and lifted off the ground. The treants did not plan to leave them there, however; three sickening _squish_ sounds echoes through the grove as the unfortunate grunts met their deaths.

            "Keep moving," Narana ordered. They left the grove behind.

            ***

            It was twilight when Maiev reached the camp in the pass, but it was not the familiar, cool twilight of Ashenvale that she missed. The warm, noxious evening reminded the Warden once again that she was very far from her home. A sour expression on her face, she blinked into the cavern, as if refusing to spend another moment out in the dismal air.

            "Mistress!" Narana exclaimed as the Warden appeared. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come." Four wisps floated in the cavern entrance behind Maiev, stopping at her feet. "Are these all that remain?"

            If Maiev heard her, she gave no sign. The Warden spoke instead to the wisps. "Spirits of Ashenvale, you are very far from home. You have served us well, and for your sakes I cannot keep you here longer. May the Goddess receive you safely." She raised her arms and murmured something. The wisps evaporated into the darkness of the cavern.

            "The treants were all destroyed, then?" Narana asked.

            "Yes," Maiev said. "We are on our own now. Our forests can no longer protect us." She turned to stare out into the oncoming night, feeling her skin tingle as she melded into the shadow. "We will rest here until tomorrow night. No one is to leave the pass unless I order it."

            "Yes, Mistress." Maiev stared up at the darkened skies of Draenor. In the distance, lightning played across the horizon, raw energy seemingly manifesting out of the Warden's storm-shocked mind. Narana said nothing else, but stood there a long time, silent, watching the Warden watch the night.

            ***

            Mogor the ogre lord stormed the last of the treant defenses and entered the night elf base to claim his prize. Akama had been left behind, seemingly forgotten by the Watchers in the haste of their flight to the mountains, or perhaps a concession made to stem the clan's attack. The warriors of the Laughing Skull seized the prisoner and brought him into Mogor's custody without even opening his cage.

            The ogre never paused to wonder if the ancient Draenei might be bait.

            ***

            At sundown the following night, a small detachment of the Laughing Skull Clan left their entrenchment outside of the ruined night elf base and journeyed to a narrow valley in the southeast. The valley was shallow, and concealed quite conveniently behind a short bluff. Crimson rocks were the only clues to mark its location, and from a few hundred yards off, it was nigh invisible. Mogor knew the way by rote, however, and his warriors had little trouble returning to it.

            "Here we are," the ogre said, staring up at the massive gate before him. The structure was built into the very wall of the valley, and was the trench's only adornment. It was a thick, black metal, perhaps adamantium, and it stood well above the heads of even the mammoth ogre. Coarse runes were inscribed all the way up the gate, glowing hauntingly in the moonlight.

            "Gorefiend," Mogor called without turning around. A series of whispers were exchanged among the orcs as a small figure in a thin black cloak approached the spot where the ogre stood marveling at the inscriptions. "Is this the place?" he asked the figure.

            "Yes," came a low hiss from beneath the figure's cowl. From the blackness of the hood, a pair of cruel red eyes gleamed. "It is as I suspected. There are two sets of runes here. Look there," Teron Gorefeind said, gesturing. "Those words are in orcish. They are quite ancient."

            "Enter at thy peril," Mogor said, reading. Gorefiend nodded.

            "The letters here, however," he said, gesturing again, "were scribed much more recently."

            "They are Draenei, then?"

            "Yes. It is all as you told me, old friend."

            "Can you read them?"

            "Not I. I am unfamiliar with these letters. It would take a powerful Draenei seer to read them."

            "And the enchantment?"

            "We must know the message before we can face the magic that binds it."

            "Of course." Mogor turned to a nearby grunt. "Bring me Akama."

            "Bring forth the prisoner!" the orc cried. There was much commotion as the assembled warriors clustered around a shallow cage. There were sounds of sliding metal and breaking wood as the vessel was opened and its inhabitant collected. A pair of warriors escorted the manacled sage to where the ogre and the lich were standing.

            "Are you ready to aid us, Draenei?" Gorefiend asked. Akama glared at him with loathing.

            "You will release my people?" the seer questioned.

            "As promised," the lich replied.

            "As if your promises still meant anything." Akama let out a sigh. "Yet it seems I have no choice. What would you have me do, dark one?"

            "Read," Gorefiend said simply. "What do these runes say?" Akama gazed up at the inscriptions, his eyes widening. A look of dread came to his alien face.

            "I cannot do it," he said.

            "You will, or your people will be forever the slaves of the Horde." The Draenei gulped and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were full of tears.

            "'Woe unto he who reads these runes, for this is the place of dread. Many have walked these halls and lived, but they bought their lives with that most dear. He who opens these doors, his plunder shall be his burden, for every treasure touched is bought at the cost of his soul. Despair unto any who casts light upon these Halls of Shadow.'"

            There was an echoing creak. The great black gates opened inward, a rush of cold air flowing out of them.

            "At last," Gorefiend breathed, approaching the open doorway, "the Halls of Shadow. The very stronghold of the old Shadow Council itself. It has been many seasons since I walked these corridors." He turned back to address his companion. "Hurry in and collect the Book."

            "There is no spell?" Mogor asked hesitantly.

            "The runes themselves spelled the words to break it. Typical Draenei mindset – disturbing what lies within is its own punishment. You'll face nothing more out here."

            "And what inside? Beasts? Demons?"

            "Nothing your warriors can't handle, old friend. Go. Gather what I require. Akama and I will await your return."

            A war-horn sounded nearby, accompanied by a female voice shrieking battle orders. The two companions looked up. From either side, night elves poured into the valley, assailing the orc warriors.

            "For the Goddess, sisters!" Maiev cried, her blade sinking into the torso of a young orc grunt.

            "Go now," Gorefiend said, addressing the ogre. Mogor nodded.

            "Into the caves, my warriors!" He turned and ran into the darkness. The orcs ceased their battle and followed him. Maiev blinked and appeared behind Gorefiend, so that the lich stood between the elven woman and the yawning entrance.

            "Do you relish death?" She asked, hefting her blade as she eyed her enemy.

            "Foolish elf," Gorefiend said, turning to face her. "I have tasted death many times. Innumerable are the lives I've spent and myriad are the souls I've discarded." He back up towards the open gate. "I can walk these dark pathways without fear, little Warden. Can you?" He turned and disappeared into the blackness of the cave.

            Narana stopped at Maiev's side as the lich vanished.

            "Secure our prisoner," the Warden said. Then she, too, gripped her weapon and entered the Halls of Shadow.

            ***

            It had been a brilliant ruse.

            The Watchers had nursed their wounds in safety of the mountains' shadows for a full night and day, and when the sun set on the second night, they had moved. Darkness in itself would have been cover enough, but the moonlit dark had always been the night elf's friend, and the women had had no trouble in crossing the slim distance of the plain to the orcs' 'secret' valley without being discovered. Scouts had told Maiev where the places lay and when the ogre would journey to it. Akama's 'capture' was all that Mogor had needed to accomplish his aims, she gathered, and by giving him what he needed, she had ensured that the lord of the Laughing Skull Clan would play right into her hands. She had waited for him to open the vault for her, as she knew he would, and then she had struck as planned.

            She should have been smiling.

            _"We are not in control here,"_ the Goddess said.

            "No," Maiev admitted.

            _"We don't know what we seek."_

            "No."

            _"The ogre has escaped us, and the lich leads us to a trap."_

            "Probably."

            The Warden turned suddenly. Which way had she been going? Her elven eyes had at first shone her the path through the darkness as clearly as the plains under the sunlight, and her elven mind had held perfectly her map of the area she's so far traversed. As she gazed now into the devouring darkness, however, her mental image faltered. She looked behind her, and then in front of her. Was it the same? Which was the direction she had come?

            _"Are we lost?"_

            "Yes, Goddess. We are lost."

            _"All is black. We see nothing."_

"Nothing."

            _"Nothing."_

            "Talking to yourself, little Warden?" a voice asked, and she knew it was the lich, Gorefiend. He was somewhere nearby, perhaps just over her shoulder. She turned around, but she could not sense him. She closed her eyes, and opened them again, and could tell no difference. What was this unnatural blackness that had her so caught? Her head swam. Which way was forward? Which way back? What was she doing here?

            "I asked if you could walk these halls without fear, little elf. Can you? Can you find your way out without your eyes to guide you? Can you live in here, without your blasted moon?" She took a step and splashed into a pool. She felt for the edge to step back out but could not find it. Instantly, she lost all orientation. She could not tell up or down. She could not tell the air from the water. It was up around her neck, it was searching for her lungs... and all the while, the lich's rasping voice filled her ears…

            "You should never have followed, little elf. You should have stayed out there, beneath your moon, with your little bows and arrows to help you. Here, there is no air for you, no food, no light. Can you live on the blackness, little Warden? Can you live on the fear?" Her arms flapped around, searching for something, anything to grasp onto…

            "Goodbye, little Warden. Good night." She was drowning, drowning, drowning in the fear…

            _"Goddess, light my path…"_

_            ***_

            Vengeance. Hatred for the lich, hatred for the ogre, and most of all, hatred for Illidan whose fault it was she had come to this awful place. Vengeance. Maiev searched within her scarred heart for every ounce of wrath she had felt, every moment when she would not have restrained herself from ending the demon hunter's life.

            In the dark, two pairs of eyes glowed red. Vengeance roared.

            ***

            Gorefiend did not hear her chant the spell, did not see the dimmed flash that signaled the summoning. He did not know until it was upon him that the Avatar of Vengeance had been called to her side.

            It was not the first time he had died violently. This did not make it less painful.

            ***

            The unnatural darkness lifted with the lich's death. The Goddess' image stood before Maiev, awaiting her prayer… her request. Or was it she who longed to serve? She didn't remember.

            "Find the treasure chamber," one of them said.

            ***

            Mogor the ogre was both a shrewd and cunning leader and a mighty warrior, and his chieftainship over the Laughing Skull Clan had brought him much power in the world of Draenor. Even before he had become its commander, the Laughing Skull was notorious for its treachery and disloyalty, and also for its ability to accomplish whatever goals it set out towards. Displaying similar talents himself, Mogor had been a natural addition to the clan, and later, to its corps of officers. When its last chieftain had fallen in battle, Mogor had thrown all of his chips into the pot and offered to fight any other warrior in the Laughing Skull over the right to rule it.

            One warrior had accepted. After Mogor had crushed his spine and savagely ripped off his weapon hand, no one else volunteered. Mogor became lord of the Laughing Skull Clan.

            The ogre prided himself on raising his clan to its current power. Before, the Laughing Skull had been a minor clan, legendary for their skills and unpredictability but too small to hold any real potency. Its numbers short and its borders unenforceable, it had been prone to nomadic wanderings and to exploitation under other, larger clans. The Laughing Skull warriors had been used for assassins, mercenaries, bodyguards and thieves, servants and soldiers. Few of the 'real' chieftains considered it a true clan, and none considered it a threat.

            Its exploits were stuff of legend and it had included many a famous hero in times of old, but no great war been won by the Laughing Skull in generations. It was a tiny band of old legends, a story whispered around a fire to entertain young warriors.

            Under Mogor, however, the self-styled clan lived up to its title. Slowly at first but quickly hastening, the Laughing Skull and its ogre chieftain made themselves known in the mentality of the orcish Horde, growing in a matter of years from an little more than mythic heroes to very real legends. Mogor built a fortress deep in the Blade's Edge Mountains, impregnable against brigand raids and nearly so against organized attacks. Little by little, more territory fell. Battles were won, and then all-out wars. For the first time, the Laughing Skull fought for itself rather than the whims of some other clan or individual. Its victories were its own, and its spoils, a conqueror's treasure replacing the familiar, meager mercenary's pay. 

            Warriors from other clans flocked to join. Ranks swelled. One by one, foes disappeared and allies were made. Soon, it was the Horde that served the Laughing Skull, and not the other way round. The other clans bickered and waged war as always, but it was not Mogor's kinsmen who fought and died for them. Aloof to such lower matters, above them, Mogor laughed to himself on his throne in his mountain fortress.

            In this aloofness, Mogor did not see the rise of the demon-worshipping crone Ner'zhul and his apprentice, Gul'dan. He did not see the conversion of the element-wielding shamans into destructive warlocks. When a secret meeting of the chieftains was called to drink the blood of the Pit Lord, Mannoroth, Mogor was not invited. And when the portal to Azeroth was opened and the bloodlusting Horde broke through into human lands, the Laughing Skull and its ogre lord were left behind to skulk amidst the swamps and mountains of Draenor.

            Mogor sent retainers to secure the Laughing Skull Clan's inclusion in the Horde's new campaigns, but his efforts were met with laughter and scorn. Having worked so long to elevate himself above the coalition of clans, the sudden turnover had more than reversed his position. His clan was not merely made to serve the Horde they had ruled – they were expelled from it. The self-declared War Chief, Blackhand, announced that no Laughing Skull warrior was to be allowed to fight for the Horde in Azeroth. Desperate to join the fray, many of Mogor's supporters deserted him and joined other clans. Others avenged their scorning by disavowing allegiance to any clan, fleeing to live as brigands and thieves. In a matter of months, the ranks of Mogor's followers dwindled, and his control of Draenor all but evaporated. Bitter and disempowered, the Laughing Skull reverted to its nomadic roots, and became again the tiny, secret band of forgotten legends whispered of around campfires.

            An orc grunt of the Blackrock Clan had once, in passing, told Mogor that his clan was finished, that he would never again taste the power he had stolen for a brief moment. The ogre had surprised the warrior by throwing back both of his heads and laughing uncontrollably. Four nights later, the warriors of the Laughing Skull had attacked the warrior's village, slaughtering orc men, women and children alike and burning the place to the ground. One small child was spared to flee to the next village and tell the tale.

            Word spread. No one ever told Mogor he was finished again.

            The ogre and his remaining followers bided their time, waiting for Lady Opportunity to once more approach their bed. After seven long years of their wandering in shame, she did.

            An ill-fated crusade of humans into Draenor upset the powers of the Horde's manipulators, and at once the Laughing Skull found itself battling pink-skinned invaders as heavily as any other clan. Eager to make the most of the situation, Mogor withdrew from the fighting and watched his enemies destroy themselves. One by one, the clans which had overshadowed him were crushed by the humans, or more often, by panicked fellow clans. Ner'zhul, the Black Shaman himself, was chased from his stronghold by the armies of Azeroth even as his world-rending spells neared completion. In the chaos, Mogor and the Laughing Skull slipped into the old warlock's ruined citadel and stole the very artifacts the humans were after.

            Mogor was never a fool, and he knew a bargaining chip when he found one. One crimson morning, he approached the human commanders and offered his prize. He named his price – the unseating of the clans that had occupied his own former territory. The pink-skins quickly agreed. That night, Mogor sat for the first time in years upon the throne of the citadel he had built himself so long ago. As the humans and the orcs destroyed themselves and each other amidst Draenor's death throws, the ogre and his clan welcomed the restoration of their dominion.

            His victory ensured, his ascension apparent, Mogor once more failed to see his fall coming.

            The demon lord, Magtheridon, had watched the events on Draenor unfold, had seen its dominion by the orcs collapse under the strain of the human advances and of Ner'zhul's spellwork. Like Mogor, he had seen Lady Opportunity beckon, and he obeyed. The day the Horde fell, swarms of demons emerged through the many portals Ner'zhul had opened, slaughtering orcs and humans alike in a tide of chaos. Upon the ruins of the Horde's power, Magtheridon built his domain, naming the sundered world Outland, and its hellish new capitol his Black Citadel. The soldiers of the Laughing Skull Clan, along with the few other bands of orcs that survived the purging, were enslaved anew by the great demon, and Mogor once more bid his chance at dominion farewell.

            Then came Teron Gorefiend.

            Mogor did not know how the undead warlock had escaped enslavement by Magtheridon, but he paid heed when Gorefiend claimed he could end the demon's rule. The ogre listened intently in his cell in the Black Citadel as the lich went on to promise long-awaited dominion over all of Outland, and the completion of Ner'zhul's most secret plan – the opening of portals to new worlds for the Horde to plunder. His alternatives non-existent, Mogor agreed, and Gorefiend got to work.

            The ogre never learned how Gorefiend contacted the elven sorcerer, Illidan, or opened the portal to Azeroth to bring the interloper hence. He never learned how Illidan was able to overthrow Magtheridon so easily, or why the demon hunter and his followers fled Outland so soon after their victory. He knew, however, that the last hindrance to his power was gone, and his kingdom was at long last his own again. Weary of his ordeals and eager to build his new empire, Mogor set out to conquer the wastes of Outland and repay Gorefiend for his unlikely services.

            Which was, of course, how the Laughing Skull had come to be interested in the Halls of Shadow. Although not as impressive in appearance or myth as the orcish Shadow Council's dark temple in Azeroth, the ruined Halls held many things of use to a treasure hunter, or to a mage. Since Mogor was one of these and Gorefiend the other, they each felt it was a good place to begin accomplishing their respective goals.

            Reflecting on it, Mogor had quickly realized that his ally's objectives would never be willingly made clear to him. The lich wrapped himself in secrecy, then disappearing for days, now emerging again from a direction other than the one in which he'd left. Perhaps he sought to rejoin his former master, Ner'zhul, in the burning voids of the Nether. Perhaps he aimed to return to Azeroth and destroy the human nations once and for all. Perhaps he searched for the lost spell which would restore him to his living body. The ogre did not know.

            He did know, however, what treasure it was that Gorefiend sought here in the bowels of the Shadow Council's discarded home. He, and few others, knew the legend that was never spoken, a tale hushed and censored by the Black Shaman's reign. During the Demon Wars, the period just before the first portal was opened, when nether spirits walked the world of Draenor and the orcs were embattled with the last of the Draenei clans, one orc, his name now lost from memory, had arisen who had challenged the demon-worshipping warlocks and dared to wage war on the Legion itself. It was said that the warrior called upon the elements of the storm to aid him, and that every demon he slew he bound within a mystical crown called the Thunder Ring, the source of his power. When Ner'zhul and the other warlocks defeated the demon slayer, they claimed that he, too, became locked within the Thunder Ring, imprisoned alongside the very demons he had captured.

            It was this crown, this nexus of power, which Gorefiend desired, and which Mogor would find for him. It was here, he knew; he had learned that the Shadow Council, in their passage from Draenor, had sealed it within their old fortress, never to be found. Later, Gorefiend had told him, the last of the Draenei kings had sealed the fortress itself. Now, however, the way was once more opened, and the prize all but won.

            Mogor would claim it, for whatever purpose Gorefiend had in mind. He would harness it, tame it, use it to achieve the undead warlock's purpose… and then keep it for himself. Such a thing of power would make a fitting crown for at least one of the heads of the new War Chief of Draenor. He would have to find something else suitable, he decided, for his other.

            ***

            Maiev stood in the shadows before a great door, the last obstacle before the room she somehow knew she sought. The Goddess had gone ahead, had already passed this place. The Warden could feel her presence radiating from the chamber beyond the barrier. The Goddess' voice called to her, beckoning, pulling her toward some unknown object in the room beyond.

            A click of metal, a turning gear, and the door swung open. Before her stretched endless rows of gold and other treasures. She passed them without hesitation, never even granting them a glance. Her focus was drawn, before she even saw it, to the altar at the far end of the treasury. It was there that the Goddess' presence sat, waiting.

            She reached the altar, gazing at the plain, black crown which graced it. There was no golden adornment, no crimson cloth. Only the barren altar and the modest crown itself. Nevertheless, the object struck Maiev as very beautiful, something she longed to own… to touch…

            She raised her arms and lifted it from the altar; it was light, like a feather. She stared at it, and the helm's empty eye sockets stared back. She felt a sudden urge to place it on her head, to wear it forever and never remove it. She heard the Goddess' voice in her ear… _"Put it on_…_ put it on_…_"_

            The held the crown, the stillness of the cavern distant from her ears. She could hear chords of sweet music playing as she stared into the empty eyes of the helm…

            ***

            "So, Warden, we catch each other at last." The silence of the moment snapped with the entrance of the ogre's voice into the chamber. Maiev lowered the helm and looked defensively toward the door, where Mogor and a pair of grunts stood, grinning at her. "Once again, I see you've found something that belongs to me."

            "The helm is mine," she said quietly, more to herself than to the ogre.

            "You wish to possess the Thunder Ring?" he asked. He stepped toward her. "I doubt it. Many evil things live on in that trinket, little elf, and I'd venture a guess that you haven't the stomach for them."

            "I claim this for the Goddess!" She said, louder. She was suddenly very angry, as if a dreaded enemy had challenged her to combat. She clutched the helm to her chest, cradling it like a child.

            "Woah, there, little Warden. Slow down. What does your Goddess want with such a sacrilege? Surely a Goddess does not hunger for such power?" He took another step.

            "The Goddess hungers for nothing," Maiev snapped.

            "Then what do you want that for?" The Warden suddenly laughed, her anger apparently evaporating. Mogor thought briefly that the woman was obviously insane. Then she spoke again.

            "I am no fool, ogre. This helm holds great power. It can surely bring my sisters and I back to our homes."

            "You only wish to return to your world?" Mogor exclaimed.

            "Of course!"

            "I see." The ogre paused. "And just how do you plan to harness the demon energies of the Ring, little one? Even if it can give you the power, you still will need a gifted spellcaster to activate it."

            Maiev said nothing. Sensing her weakening, Mogor continued.

            "Listen, Warden. Let's make a deal, shall we? You hand over that little trinket, and I guarantee you a portal back to Azeroth. Interested?"

            "As if I could trust you not to slaughter me and my warriors as soon as I accept!"

            "Look, elf. I know our relations haven't been spectacular thus far. That's because you've stood in the way of what I want. As soon as you're on my side, I have no further quarrel with you."

            "Can you open the portal without your undead friend? He met his doom in these dark halls." Despite her sarcasm, the elf woman's voice betrayed her interest.

            "Pay no mind to Gorefiend. There is more than one way to skin an orc, you'll find." He paused. "I offer you neither gold nor challenge today, little Warden, since I know you, and know that you will accept neither. I offer instead my loyalty, which no mortal or demon, in this world or any other, has accepted, and which is worth much, much more than any duel or trinket. Will you accept it, or deny it like so many others?"

            "How do I know you'll keep your word?" Maiev asked suspiciously.

            "You'll just have to trust me," Mogor said. He reached the altar, and stood beside the Warden, looking down into her face. Her arms held the crown between them. "Well, little elf? What say you?"

            For a moment, she did not reply. Then, slowly, she lifted the featherweight helm and placed it in the ogre's hand.

            "You will call me 'Lady'," she said. In the back of her mind, the Goddess' voice chuckled faintly.

            _"This thing is not meant for you, Warden."_

_            ***_

            "Can we trust him?" Narana would ask later, when the elf and the ogre had returned to the sunlit world to rejoin their respective peoples.

            "Of course not," Maiev would answer her. "But he cannot trust us either." Somehow, in her mind, that settled it.


End file.
